Out of Time (Nine Minutes #2) (46 page)

He lied to Grunt that day in the prison yard. There was no new person in charge who didn’t care if he exposed them. In fact, it was the opposite.

Someone new had been moved up the ranks within the NNG, and almost immediately lethal injection had been legalized. Someone was finally ready to play ball. And after thinking about what he’d seen in those documents and realizing what would be happening later this year, he could understand why. It was something that would bring this country to its knees.

The men who sat before him allowed him one last parting gift. They hadn’t interfered in Blue’s set-up to get rid of Jan and frame Rockman. He felt a pang of conscience. After having a near-death experience, he was almost sorry he’d had Jan murdered and Rockman framed for it.

“You should probably know that the last thing Blue handled for you has been thwarted. You’re not going to find your money in that offshore account. You’re stone-cold broke.”

The younger of the two men practically spat this last comment at Grizz. The second guy was older with a ruddy complexion, thin lips, and a comb-over that consisted of maybe ten strands of gray hair. The older agent sat silently with a tightlipped smile as the younger agent informed Talbot of this latest information.

Good
, Grizz thought to himself. They had followed the trail he and Blue set and thought they’d found his money and were going to prevent him from getting it. Let the fuckers think it. At least this told him something. He would be walking out of here. He already had proof they’d pulled surveillance from Kit and Grunt’s home. He’d had his own reliable contact who was able to confirm they were telling the truth about that. The same contact who’d had the kitten delivered. They thought he was walking out of here a beaten and broken man. They thought they’d consigned him to a fate worse than death.

Unbeknownst to them, he still had a lot of money so he wasn’t broke, but he was still broken. He no longer had her.

Their business was concluded. Grizz got up and started to leave, but as he turned, he asked one last question. “This journal. This journal that they keep talking about. It was Moe’s, right?”

“Miriam Parker? The girl you maimed? Yeah, it was hers. Rhonda Bailey had it. Why?”

“What are you going to do with it?” he asked them.

“Toss it. There’s nothing in it, Talbot. You want it? Kind of like a keepsake or something?” Mr. Comb-Over asked.

“Yeah. I want it.”

That was almost six months ago. He’d finally given it back. He’d given it all back and walked out of that meeting not certain if he would be getting a bullet in his back. But, they gave him the journal and let him go. They were certain he’d find himself in trouble again soon and would meet his own demise. They had what they wanted and he would no longer have their protection. His death would no longer expose them.

He still hadn’t read Moe’s journal. He wasn’t ready. Besides, he was certain it was full of nonsensical ramblings from someone who’d hated his guts. Could he blame her?

Grunt thought he was dead. Blue thought he was dead. They all thought he was dead. Everybody except for Carter and Bill. He should’ve let Kit think it, too, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t walk away without letting her know he would always be there for her. He waited until after she renewed her vows with Grunt to make himself known by taking his bike. And by leaving and not facing her, he took away any turmoil he might’ve caused by forcing her to choose.

What would he have expected? That she would leave her family for him, or leave her husband and take her children to start a life over with him somewhere? Neither option would’ve been a good one for her, and he loved her enough to know that.

He scowled to himself when he realized something else he had done. He hadn’t meant to. He had told Grunt the truth behind the NNG, and yet Grunt couldn’t share it with Kit. Then, he had let Kit know he was still alive—and knew she wouldn’t tell Grunt. She wouldn’t want to hurt him or let him think Grizz would show up one day and try to reclaim her.

Without even realizing it, he’d forced the couple into keeping more secrets from each other. He shook his head as he drove. He realized he hadn’t consciously done it, but it had turned out that way. Maybe he really didn’t know how to be anything other than a first-class rotten son-of-a-bitch.

Her Bible. He had completely forgotten about it until Guido got a message to him before his execution asking what should be done with it. He’d given instructions for Guido to have it delivered to Carter’s after his death.

He was startled from his thoughts when a cat ran in front of the road and he had to swerve. Pulling off the road then, he gazed around.
Where the fuck am I?

He noticed a restaurant up ahead. His stomach growled as if answering an unspoken question. Gotta eat. Hope it’s open.

He pulled in and noticed one car in front. It was a small restaurant with a tidy exterior. Though an older building, it had what looked like a fresh coat of white paint. There were three steps leading up to a front porch that spanned the width of the front. The building’s window trim and porch railings were painted an avocado green. That’s when he noticed the sign. The Green Bean. Okay, not avocado green, he smirked. Green bean green. What the fuck did he know?

He chuckled to himself as he parked and got off his bike. He was stretching when a sign on the front porch railing caught his eye: “Bikers not welcome.”

This surprised him. He scratched his jaw.
We’ll see about that
.

His heavy boots resounded off the wooden deck steps as if the loud bike pipes wouldn’t have already announced his visit. He noticed the restaurant entrance was a screen door. No doubt they’d heard the bike. Maybe they would be waiting inside with a shotgun. He hoped so. They’d be doing him a favor, he thought to himself as he swung the screen door open and went inside, letting it slam shut behind him.

He immediately caught the scent of a savory aroma and had an instant déjà vu of coming home to one of Kit’s home-cooked meals.

Before he could adjust to his surroundings, his ear caught a familiar tune. He immediately zeroed in on an old-fashioned jukebox in the far corner. It looked like one he’d had in his bars back in the seventies. “Don’t Look Back” by Boston was playing. It wasn’t loud. It was actually kind of quiet, but it taunted him. He was never a fan of Kit’s music, but he’d heard enough of it over the years to recognize it. Where was the person with the shotgun? He’d like one healthy blast to the chest, please.

Just then he heard her.

“Another fucking biker with shit for brains. Can’t you fucking read, Granddad? The sign says ‘Bikers not welcome.’ I heard you pull up, you dirty-arse piece of shit biker with bollocks for brains!”

He didn’t know what shocked him more: Being referred to as Granddad or the voice that said it. Yeah, he was old enough to be a grandfather, but so what? He took a quick glance to his right and checked himself out in the mirror behind the cash register. His hair was dirty blonde and the few streaks of gray were barely noticeable. He subconsciously swiped his hand through his hair and wondered if it was time for a shave. Kit liked him when he was clean-shaven.

Would he ever be able to not think about her?

But it was the voice that assaulted his senses even more than the Boston song and the smell of food. It was a voice he knew. A voice that had been implanted in his brain. A voice he would never, could never forget. One he’d heard twenty-five years ago when Kit talked in a British accent to the girl that recognized her at the vet’s office.

He smiled to himself when he remembered her awkward and totally adorable attempt at dirty talk in that same accent.

He swung around to see where the voice had come from and he almost stumbled backwards. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. He sure as heck couldn’t speak. He was certain that he looked like an oversized ape with his arms dangling at his sides and his mouth open.

“Don’t you hear? Are your ears filled up with piss or something? You and your kind aren’t welcome. Get your big, tattooed, hairy face out of my restaurant. You get back on your bloody bike and keep going.”

She stood there with her hands on her hips and looked up at him with a defiant tilt to her chin. A defiant chin that he knew. He was looking at a blonde, blue-eyed version of Kit. He could tell her blue eyes were too bright, almost exaggerated, and he realized she was probably wearing those colored-contact things they made nowadays. He had to forcibly stop himself from reaching out to caress her cheek, run his hand down her jaw. He could picture himself tilting that jaw up toward his face to kiss her lips. He’d done it a thousand times before. He shook the thought from his head.

This isn’t Kit. But other than the hair and eyes, it looks exactly like her.

He slowly scanned her, from what had to be bleached blonde hair down to her painted pink toenails. He knew every inch of this body. He’d sucked on those toes. No tattoos and no piercings. He blurted out the first thing that popped into his head.

“You afraid of needles? They make you faint?”

She hadn’t expected this, and he could see in her expression he’d caught her off guard with his comment. She quickly regained her composure.

“Oh, so you’re the amazing fucking Zoron? What the fuck would you know about what makes me faint or not? You bloody, cocky shit. You’re all alike. Dicks for brains.”

He looked at her questioningly at the Zoron comment.

“He’s a fuckwit that read minds for a living back in the seventies.” She rolled her eyes. “Fucking American men. You’ve never ever heard of the Amazing Zoron? You know, Zoron, rhymes with
moron
! You’ve been living with your head up your arse?”

Without waiting for him to answer, she pointed to the door.

He started to walk toward her. She didn’t back away and instead appeared to adapt a more forceful posture, folding her arms now. Like she was ready for the challenge. “Don’t let the door hit you in the arse on your way out.”

Just then, he heard another voice coming from behind the lunch counter. “Don’t be so mean to the guy, Cricket. He doesn’t look like he wants any trouble and he’s by himself.”

Grizz looked up and saw an older woman peering through the pass-through from the kitchen to the counter area.

“Yeah, he’s by himself. Probably sucks his own dick all day long. You can wait on this balls for brains, Edna. I’ll be in the back doing my paperwork.”

Kit’s lookalike huffed her way past him toward the back of the small diner. He watched her pass through two swinging doors. Actually, he watched her ass. It was an ass he knew intimately.

He had no doubt he was looking at Kit’s twin. Kit’s twin who was supposed to be dead. Not living in the back country of Louisiana with a British accent and a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush.

He’d read the note from Delia. He knew she’d tried to find her other daughter and found a death certificate instead. What was her name? He vaguely remembered the nickname Cricket from the note, but he couldn’t remember her real name. What had Delia written? Joanie, Jenny, Jeanie? No. They weren’t ringing any bells. He couldn’t even remember Kit’s real name. Just that they both started with a J.

He decided against a table and took a seat at the counter. Edna had come out from the kitchen and handed him a menu. Without looking at it, he asked her, “Got any specials?”

She nodded. “Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans.”

“Yeah, that and a large water.”

Before she could turn around, he nodded toward the swinging doors that led back to the kitchen. “What’s her beef with bikers?”

“Oh, don’t let Cricket bother you. We’ve had some trouble with them in the past, is all. She’s really a good person.”

“Cricket? What kind of name is Cricket?”

Edna smiled. “It’s Jodi. She’s gone by Cricket since she was a baby, though. I’ve always known her as Cricket.”

“You’ve known her since she was a baby?” he asked, and before she could answer, added, “Her accent isn’t from around here. Yours is.”

Edna set his water down in front of him. “I was friends with her mother. We’d worked together at a hospital. She was a nurse and I worked in the cafeteria. She went back to England when Cricket was a baby. She was raised over there. Her mother and I stayed in touch over the years. When she died, I asked Cricket to come here and help me with my diner. I think she was missing her mother or maybe having some trouble of her own over there. She’s been here a year and has taken on the role of self-appointed watchdog of me and my restaurant. It’s hers now. She bought it from me. She’s not a bad girl, really. Well, she’s obviously not a girl, but you know what I mean.”

Grizz didn’t reply and Edna headed back through the swinging doors. He could see her in the kitchen fixing his plate. He would like to pick Edna’s brain some more.

He sipped his water and thought about the blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman who had spoken to him like nobody,
nobody
ever had before. A foul mouthed, British version of Kit with a boulder-sized chip on her shoulder.

No, she was not his sweet little kitten. She was more like a tiger. A dirty-mouthed, obnoxious, nasty tiger, and if he hadn’t been certain he was looking at Kit’s twin, he’d have shut her up instantly. He’d actually had a moment when he almost grabbed her by the throat, but stopped himself because he kept seeing Kit’s face in spite of the blue contacts and blonde hair.